


i surrender

by tackypanda



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Body Image, Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting, Panic Attacks, Retribution Spoilers, wow those are Some Tags huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 04:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20790953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tackypanda/pseuds/tackypanda
Summary: Who was he, that he could be so charmed by her? Not the stubborn retiree who just wanted a quiet life even though no one would listen, but the bitter husk who was nothing. Nobody. Who was he that he could still want her when she took care to look ridiculous for this outing, that he took in all that and still approached her claiming he wanted to see even more?She hated him. No, no - she hated how over the course or the night, she had started to feel quite the opposite. How dare he have a heart that beat more surely than hers ever would?(herald and sidestep's date in retribution, only rawer)





	i surrender

**Author's Note:**

> wow i haven't posted fic here in over two years so naturally the thing i dare to put up is my first attempt at smut ever
> 
> big thanks to my pals [mj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PomoneCorse) and [dutch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unluckywords) for acting as both lite betas and moral support for the whole week i spent writing and almost deleting this... i owe u my life

Bebe hadn’t said much this evening. Not nearly as much as she should have - times when a question to distract from a heavy topic or even a “that sucks” would have been welcome were met with a loaded look, sigh, or rubbing the back of her neck (her hand kept instinctively going to rub her head only to be intercepted by her wig, after all). It didn’t perturb Herald, if the fact that the night had really _ happened _ up to this point was any indication. Her body’s reactions were too visceral to just be a delusion - heart pounding, sweat pooling, scalp itching. She could just take it off and scratch - just like she could take all her clothes off and force him to hate her. But that would require opening her mouth, letting the proverbial floodgates open, and she just didn’t know if she could do that.

Ortega was a lot easier to bullshit around, play off him and pretend she was someone who could banter and soliloquize and just _ talk _ . Herald wanted too much, his intensity and enthusiasm suffocating her desire to pretend. Really, what did she care if she was genuine with him? Part of the intent behind this whole date was to feed him some encouraging morsels to get him off her back for a while. She couldn’t focus on hating him if he was _ there _ , so sincere, so real in ways she convinced herself he couldn’t be. But here she was, lips swollen, the subject of scrutiny that teetered between welcome, _ wanted _, and backing her into a corner. And she had barely said a damn thing to get here.

Who was he, that he could be so charmed by _ her? _ Not the stubborn retiree who just wanted a _ quiet _ life even though no one would listen, but the bitter husk who was nothing. Nobody. Who was he that he could still want her when she took care to look _ ridiculous _ for this outing, that he took in all that and still approached her claiming he wanted to see even _ more? _

She hated him. No, no - she hated how over the course or the night, she had started to feel quite the opposite. How dare he have a heart that beat more surely than hers ever would?

“You…” she stared into her empty mug, an off-kilter smile spreading across her face, “have a _ lot _of nerve.” She saw him stiffen in her peripheral vision, and her smile grew wider.

“I--” A slap to the face might have confused him less. “I’m sorry?”

_ You’ll be sorry. You’re gonna see, and then you’ll never smile at me again, or look at me, and then everything I’ve ever thought about you will be _ ** _right_ ** _ and I can leave and never feel guilty about what I did to you and if you keep looking at me like I hung the moon after I just started going off the rails I’m really gonna lose it stop stop _ ** _stop_ ** _ \-- _

He deftly caught the cup as it fell from her hands; at least he had the good sense to look worried now. “Did I do something wrong? Talk to me.”

“Oh, I'm gonna.” He did everything wrong. Everything to throw a wrench in how she justified fighting the rangers. Everything to begin to make her question that there might be things worth living for. It wasn’t fair, and she was going to show him just how _ unfair _ and _ ugly _ this situation was. She was so caught up in imagining him kicking her out in disgust that she nearly forgot herself.

She did find herself regretting her choice of wearing an oversized sweater dress _ and _ a wig tonight. The sweater was _ not _ easy to just pull over her head, and she had to keep swatting Herald away even if he so much as _ leaned _ forward to attempt to help her. She was twice as sweaty when she finally got the sweater off and onto the floor, wig askew, but she couldn’t stop now. He was still hovering - why couldn’t he just _ watch _, stupefied, like she expected him to?

“Bebe, if you’re not comfortable, you don’t have to--”

“_Don’t _.”

Her undershirt followed, the agonizingly slow process of peeling it off her slick flesh almost enough to make her give up. The final nail in her coffin was when it got stuck around her head and all its accoutrements, to the point that when Herald moved to help her, she didn’t turn him away. She hissed as she jerked her head, letting out an involuntary yelp when her earlobe tugged in the opposite direction. “Fuck, you got it stuck on my earring!”

He laughed as he tried his best to untangle her, though his fingers were by no means as nimble as other Rangers’ (_ “Doesn’t exactly bode well for the rest of your night, huh?” _ Fuck off, Ortega - why was she even thinking about him now?). He was the one to pull off the shirt, to attempt to set her wig right from where it was hanging half off her head before _ he _ made the decision to take it off entirely (he _ did _ move slowly, as though he feared she’d fight him on it - she didn’t). In fact, she just stood there and let him touch her, let him smile into her scalp as he pressed his lips to the scaly patch of skin she could never stop scratching. She was soaking it all in, she supposed - the illusion that she could be desirable, just for a few moments more.

“I like you just like this.” He nuzzled his nose against the marred skin of her cheek, and she nearly lost herself right then and there. Did he even realize what was going on below her neck? Was he so _ mesmerized _ by her broken nose, scar tissue, and lack of eyebrows? _Fuck him._

“Wanna bet?” She gripped him by the shoulders and shoved him away - not enough to hurt, but enough to get him far enough to have to take _ all _ of her in. His whole body sagged as he did, as though the weight of realization physically dragged him down. She just nodded with increasing fervor, crossing her arms over her chest to protect herself. He called to her, all choked up, but she didn’t want to hear anything he had to say yet. She was having a hard enough time trying to close out his mind. “How does it feel, huh? Your hero - your latest _ squeeze _ \- is a fucking Regene!” Saying the word aloud nearly knocked the wind out of her. “I'm an infiltrator, you know. Silent fucking plague on the world. And for what? To _ observe _ , to see the world for the fucking _ sadists _ who stay cooped up in their secret facility who couldn’t be among society if they tried because they’re such monsters and _ I was made in their image! _” The tangent was unexpected, years of festering thoughts spilling out of her now that she’d given them the opportunity. Maybe if she kept going, she could scare him into silence, and whenever the end came, the guilt of not telling anyone would eat him alive and--

“You’re--” Processing all this pained him. Not pain he felt for himself - his dreams and illusions of her were cracked, yes, but not shattered. His fists clenched for _ her _. “How could you say that about yourself?”

“Are you not fucking hearing me, _ Daniel _ ? Are you not _ seeing _ me? You’re not, because if you really were, we wouldn’t be here.” It wasn’t just about the scars, or even the tattoos. Despite how _ beyond _ caring she should have been about the pressures of conventional beauty standards, her fear only spiked when she thought about the skin underneath it all. The flabbiness, the rolls, the lack of hair in all the places where it should be, the way her stomach spilled out over the waistband of her tights… _ fuck. _ The more she focused on that, the more she could tune out his actual thoughts and replace them with her own assumptions. Perhaps he could have dealt with the scars and tattoos if they were on someone who was less. More. _ Either _ . All of it together was too much for him, so she forced herself to stare _ right _ at him and find the horror she was waiting for.

More pain, on the outside now. His face twisted with the concern, wondering what _ exactly _ she had been through that brought her to the point of expecting him to abandon him when she needed him. What-- _ no _ , she didn’t need him. How did he know she assumed he would leave - _ wanted _ him to, even? “I see you,” he finally said, near breathless, “and you’re full of shit.”

He didn’t say it to hurt her - he wanted just the opposite. _ How dare he _ . “having a hard time swallowing the truth, _ Herald _?”

_ That _ hurt him, just the slightest sting to his shaking confidence, but the feeling reverberated in her mind in a way she wasn’t used to. “I think _ you _ are.” His tone grew eerily serious, his frame straight as he approached her. Deja vu hit her like a freight train, and suddenly she was back outside the museum, staring him down as a faceless adversary. Only she wasn’t his enemy this time - her suffering was. “I’ll tell you what the truth is.” Softness crept back into his tone - he felt it so intensely for her he couldn’t keep a lid on it for long. She wanted so badly to be mad about it, but it blanketed her, and she calmed ever so slightly. “A monster doesn’t make her own candy bars and share them with her friends.”

“How did you--” _ Ortega _. Dammit. “That was a long time ago.”

“You still did it.”

“That doesn’t mean--”

He took a few steps forward, determined. “A monster doesn’t run herself _ fucking _ ragged. Do think about what you’re doing to yourself? Ever? You don’t deserve all the ways you try to hurt--” He shut his eyes tight. Why couldn’t he say the words, if they were the truth? “You deserve so much more.”

She forced a laugh, as if that would stem the tide of tears threatening to pour from her eyes. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“I do, though. especially now.”

She fell back against the couch, wobbling legs barely keeping her aloft. She rifled through his mind indiscriminately, looking for any trace of revulsion. That she did find - for her creators, for the world, for her life, but not for her. _ Never for her _ . His warmth threatened to smother her; she had to try harder. “You can’t _ honestly _look at me and still want me.” He blinked, and she dove onto the opening he gave her as though it was a live grenade. “You’re so full of it. This-- this is just you living out your little fantasy of one night with your hero, and then you’ll be done with me and all of this won’t matter--”

“It matters.” His voice cracked, and it brought her none of the satisfaction she so desperately craved. He wasn’t stupid - he knew she was doing this to push him away, burn the bridge they were so precariously teetering on. But there he was, steadying himself, resisting the urge to indulge the superficial wounds she was inflicting on him. “I'm not-- that’s not really what you think of me, is it?”

“No.” Her answer slipped out before she could stop it, and he visibly relaxed. Meanwhile, her hands crept up to her shoulders, blunted nails digging in enough to hurt. “No, you’re… nothing like I thought. At all. And I don’t get it. I don’t get how you’re still here. Why are you just-- _ what is it?! _”

If he _was_ like Ortega, he might have said some awfully-timed shit to diffuse the tension - ‘_well, this _**_is_** _my apartment’. _But he wasn’t, which was why his eyes softened while the rest of his expression remained resolute. “I'm in love with you.” His breath caught on the last word, a mixture of fear and yearning. “I'd never let you go, if you let me.”

He wasn’t naive, not in the way she had always thought he was. He might not have known the awfulness of the world like she did, but he knew enough to understand; to feel deeply and believe in those feelings with everything he had, to the point where it was almost enough to make _ her _ believe. Almost. When her legs buckled, of course he was there to catch her and keep her upright. When she sobbed, of course he hovered so he could press her close to his chest without his height being a detriment. Of _ course _ he’d want her to hear his heartbeat, to try to soothe her, give her all the answers she wanted. She knew what she _ didn’t _ want was for him to see her fall apart like this. She had already been unravelling earlier, sure, but her irrational anger was a shield. This… this felt like giving up. 

“Can you…” he swallowed, “can you tell me what you’re thinking?” He was trying so hard to be patient with her, let her take her time, but he _ had _ just dumped his feelings on her in a last ditch effort to assuage her fears. Now he had fears of his own, too much too fast, the reason she’s crying…

“I don’t know.” She was being partially honest - that was better than she managed on a normal day.

He let out a nervous puff of laughter, breath fanning over her head - it was more comforting than she wanted to admit. “That's okay.” He tightened his hold on her. “I'm not going anywhere. and, uh-- I won't tell anyone. About you being a Regene, I mean. But I wasn't going to go and tell anyone you cried, either.”

“I didn't think you would.” She should let go, she knew it. Not just to wind the clock backwards in his mind and make up some excuse to leave the opulence he wanted to share, which was proving hard enough. But if he held her like this for much longer, uncaring of what he felt underneath his hand splayed on her bare back, no reaction beyond the comfortable to her bare breasts pressing into his chest… she could hold on until morning. “I… I'm sorry. For insinuating you were shallow.”

“It’s okay, just… what made you think I would be?” That was enough to get her to still, and she pulled away to level him with a deadpan look. “What?”

“Fucking look at you. All that work went into making you the stereotypical hot always-in-the-spotlight pretty boy, and they tend to be all cut from the same cloth.” She shrugged - he was smart enough to connect the dots from there rather than have her spell out the uncomfortable real truth of it all. And he did, after wading through the initial confusion… but what struck her most of all was the bashfulness. He had her half-naked in his arms, more open than she’d ever been with anyone, and he _ still _ was pleasantly surprised she found him attractive. 

** _Who was he?_ **

“I get where you’re coming from, but…” He sighed, head lolling to the side as he struggled to put his torrent of emotions into words. Not that he needed to - they were all about her, they were all _ good _ , and they all reached out to hold her just as surely as his arms. “I don't know what I can say, except… heh, I just think you’re beautiful. Then _ and _ now.” He punctuated his statement with a kiss to her forehead, carefully asking for nothing, only offering comfort. But he couldn’t hide his thoughts from her, so similar to _ then _ when he looked forward to getting her undressed with nervous anticipation. It was different now - realer, _ rawer _ \- a desire to dive as deep as she’d possibly let him.

Fuck, she hoped he didn’t mean that literally.

_ Something _ could be said about how she was already past the point of feeling the need to hide herself, even if it wasn’t easy. Something could also be said about how he was unbelievably patient, and despite the lust trying to creep its way to the forefront of his mind, he prioritized her well-being. They would get nowhere by talking about this any longer, and even if she wanted to stoke the fires of a fight again, he would be quick to snuff them out. Tentatively, she cupped his cheek with a meaty hand, and nearly started crying over how he immediately leaned into her palm.

“Can I kiss you?” She felt his cheek heat up. “It doesn’t have to go anywhere else if you don’t want it to.”

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat; he coaxed answers out of her so quickly. Another thing to hate him for… if she cared to. “I dunno where we’ll go from there, just… yeah.”

“No worries, baby.” He blanched as her hand fell away from him in shock. “I-- I'm sorry, it’s so close to your name, and… maybe I was trying it out, but--”

Before he could speak, before she could _ overthink _ , she surged forward and mashed their lips together. She gripped the collar of his shirt as they adjusted their angles, settled into a hurried rhythm, both hungrier than anticipated. He scrambled to get his shirt off, her barely any help as she was distracted by feeling the planes of his muscles under the fabric. He managed to pull it over his head seamlessly once he got a good grip on it, because of course _ he _ didn’t get shirts stuck around his head. Still, she couldn’t find it in her to be mad for long when his expression was so earnest.

One glance at his bare torso, and she had to divert her attention to the side. Not just because of the scars she didn’t expect to see so many of, but he was breathing just as hard as she was, making his perfect chest and abs _ quake _ . Was it really _ her _ that inspired such a reaction in him?

“Hey.” He reached out for her this time, thumb lightly tracing the line of her jaw, before pressing another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Is this too much?”

She was getting used to this copious amount of affection; _ that _ was too much. “No, ah-- just don’t really know what I'm doing, honestly.”

“_ Oh _ .” He tried to make sense of the admission, insisting that _ no, _ he couldn’t possibly be her first, but _ maybe _ considering the circumstances of her, er, creation (and what a _ diplomatic _ way to think about her). In the end, he was all the more purposeful, settling back on the ground so he could take her arm more comfortably in his hands. “Well, then-- don’t worry about me tonight. I'm gonna make you feel good, okay? Trust me.”

“You can try.” Her rancor didn’t deter him - in fact, he took it as a challenge. One he wasn’t fully sure he could rise up to, but hell if he wouldn’t make a valiant attempt.

He kissed her knuckles first, lavishing extra attention on scars and split skin in various states of healing. His lips skated up the back of her hand, wrist, and forearm until he reached the edge of her tattoos. He sighed against her, like he could pour something positive into those horrible orange lines - something _ loving _ . He continued his ministrations, covering every inch possible. and she, well… she might as well have been the one floating now. He marveled at the definition of her muscles, the scars that conveyed how much she had survived, and she marveled at _ him _ in turn. How he could stand there and think such things about her - have his feelings for her _ strengthened _, no less - she sure as hell didn’t know. 

If their situations were reversed, she doubted she would have been so kind.

He sagged a bit against her shoulder, dropping her arm so he could hook his fingers in the waistband of her leggings. “I don't wanna do this here.” He tugged her closer, beaming up at her through lidded eyes. “We _ could _, but a lady deserves a nice bed.”

“Oh, _ god _, really?” She sucked her lips in to hide her smile.

“I could carry you and everything--”

“Don’t even start with that shit.” He flushed, and she snorted at the sight. “You know what?” Without warning, she scooped him up in her arms, and maybe blushed a _ little _ in turn when he flung his arms around her neck. “Might _ the lady _ escort you anywhere?”

“Holy fuck, Bebe.” He was perfectly red, pressing flurried kisses down the length of her jaw. “I-- the couch. The _ couch _.”

Good call - if she had to go all the way to the bedroom, she might have lost her nerve. She circled the large piece of furniture easily, plopping down with him still in her arms. He pulled away to grin at her before using the position to his advantage, gently pushing her down onto the cushions.

“You can touch me if you want, I won't stop you.” His smile was sweeter now, blue eyes glittering. “But this… this is all about you.”

If she let him continue on like this - today, tomorrow, until all this blew up in their faces - it always would be.

He waited for an affirmative signal; all she could offer was a feeble thumbs up, but it was all he needed to lean down and trail his lips down her sternum, palming her sagging breasts. Even though she’d been entirely topless since she the reveal, her nerves still spiked now that he was actually touching them. But he didn’t move his hands, nor did he go any further than just happily cupping the weight of them as his tongue charted more of her brands. she wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to feel by now - heat, tension, adrenaline? She wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up feeling nothing - she doubted the Farm would be so generous to give her the ability to be _ pleasured _.

If nothing else, she could appreciate how he felt about her, that getting to map her body out like this was an honor he was raring to be worthy of. She flung an arm over her eyes at the thought - _ if we knew what was good for us, we’d stay the hell away from each other _ . Was _ she _good enough to stay away, however? Not at all.

He paused immediately at the motion. “You doing okay?”

“No, yeah. Just thinking.”

He propped his chin up on her abdomen, blinking at her. “About?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged at her reply, outlining the burn scar on her ribs with a feather-light touch. “Are you gonna stop until I tell you?”

“I'd like to know, especially if it’s about what I'm doing.” 

She would have been annoyed if he wasn’t genuinely concerned that he was doing something wrong and she wasn’t telling him. _ One of these days, I'm gonna push his buttons and see what gets him to act like a selfish bastard _ . _ Maybe _. “I don’t think I ever took my laundry out of the dryer, s’all.”

He mulled it over, before chuckling and shaking his hair into his eyes. “At least you didn’t leave it in the washing machine.”

“I've done that before, too.”

He chuckled even more, and she really didn’t know if she could handle having someone so nice around all the time who also laughed at anything remotely funny she said. She lifted her arm and reached forward to run a hand through his impossibly fluffy hair, chewing on her bottom lip as she did so. She pulled away just as he started to lean into her. 

Thankfully, that was enough initiative to get him to start up again, although she stiffened now that he reached her stomach. He took that as a cue to move agonizingly slow, taking his time to lavish attention on every lump, every dip, every stretch mark - no flaw deterred him. “Relax.” He was muffled, the vibrations of his voice against her sending a jolt of _ something _ down to her crotch. “I love it all.”

She lay there, soaking up his adoration, before tugging him up by his shoulders to kiss him once more. She lightly bit his bottom lip as she ran her fingers down the notches in his spine, and that was enough to make him moan right into her mouth. He pulled away, but he was clearly reluctant to do so. “Bebe, lemme--”

“I feel bad.”

“Don’t.” He framed her face in his hands, pressing a kiss to her brow, then her nose. “I meant it when I said this should all be about you.” There was, of course, the wishful thought that there might be reciprocation in the future. That would all depend on her resolve, wouldn’t it? “Anyway… can I take these off?” He reached down to run a finger over her waistband, and she nodded before fear could stop her.

He slid off her and the couch, dragging her tights and underwear down with him as he knelt before her. Despite all she had already been through with him tonight, the apprehension was making her lungs struggle to expand properly. He kissed her ankle as he tugged them off, before looking up at her. “Okay, uh-- you wanna maybe show me what you like first?”

She snorted once more. “I've never done _ anything _, so… don’t even know.”

“Shit, alright.” He pushed his hair back behind his ears, giving her a smile that was probably more nervous than he intended. “Don’t be shy then, okay?” Hah; if he thought he was getting a moan out of her, he was crazy.

He guided her legs apart and wasted absolutely _ no _ time as he pressed the pads of his fingers to her clit, circling over it as his lips were busy kissing the marks on her inner thighs. Her hips, to their credit, bucked upwards as she clawed at the leather of the couch. “Oh _ fuck _ , uh, that feels… _ right _.” Was she sweating again? Jesus.

“Feel good?”

“I mean yeah, it’s--” He increased the pressure, and the moan that filled the space between them had undoubtedly been hers. Was it really that easy to make a fire rip through her? The fact that her reactions were affecting him just as much made things only a little better.

The bastard had the gall to look up at her, besotted. “You’re so gorgeous right now.”

Oh, sure - all splayed out, desperate, _ vulnerable _. But… dammit, she didn’t want paranoia to get in the way of her feeling good while she was in her own body. Not now, and if she had to pay for her idiocy, she’d do it later. “Tell me again when I'm sweating all over your couch.”

He just grinned, rubbing her hip with his free hand. “I will.” He moved his other hand away from her crotch, and she very nearly whined over the loss of sensation. Luckily the sound turned into a gasp when he swiftly lifted her knees to rest on his shoulders. “Been wanting to do this a long time.”

What, be a leg rest for her? God… she was never getting rid of him, was she? “So I gathered.”

He braced his hands on her thighs and leaned in, the sensitive bundle of nerves coming alive again as his tongue swirled around it. She had no idea what to do with her hands at this point; she tried to dig her nails into her skin to ride out the feeling, but he swatted her hands away with a muffled “don’t hurt yourself”. Considerate of him, sure, but what _ else _ was she supposed to do? Whatever worked for normal people surely wouldn’t work for her.

“_ Fuck _.” he pulled away suddenly, looking spaced out.

“What? What’s wrong?"

“Just remembered I forgot to get milk.”

“_ Shitbirds _ , Daniel.” her body shook with disbelieving laughter, and he had to try _ very _ hard to not be distracted by the way her stomach jiggled. Anyone else paying attention to something like that would be a blow to her already low self-esteem, but when all Daniel could think was ‘ _ she’s so amazing, I can't believe this is really happening’, _who was she to argue? “What’s that matter?”

“We won’t have any in the morning.” He wasn’t assuming anything, but his gaze was openly hopeful as he traced idle patterns over her thigh.

“I… I guess we’ll make due."

His face lit up right before he dove back down with renewed vigor. This time, he released one thigh so he could guide a finger into her slowly, testing the waters - she answered with a gutteral whine, not helped by the feeling of him smiling against her. She struggled not to lose herself to the bliss clouding the moment - when he began to slow, uncertain, she couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. “What’s wrong now?”

“This-- this is great, don’t get me wrong.” He pulled away to give her a reassuring if sheepish smile, breathless much the same as she made him during their training session. Tonight, however? Far better results, if she said so herself. “I just… there’s something I really wanna do for you. me too, I guess.”

“Are you gonna _ tell _ me what it is?”

He brought her hands to his mouth, kissing her fingers before guiding her to the end of the couch. “Don’t wanna psych you out.”

She scoffed; keeping her in the dark was no way to ease her nerves, and sifting through his mind to get her answer seemed wise. But as much as she was loathe to admit it, the unknown of it was a bit thrilling, and she was already worked up and near dripping. So she wordlessly, if suspiciously, watched him lay down flat on the couch, pulling her down on top of him. she expected him to remove his pants; instead, he tugged her upwards until her knees were on either side of his head, and his mouth was a hair's breadth away from her crotch. If only she could keep still.

“Wh-- you’re _ insane _.” His arms kept her legs in place as they shook, but she had to grip the armrest to stop from losing her balance entirely. “I’ll suffocate you.”

“You won’t.” He stroked her flank comfortingly, but every puff of breath had her already raw nerves firing off. “And if you do, well... I can think of worse ways to go.”

She wanted to let out a hearty guffaw, duck her face to hide her embarrassment (as if he could _ see _ it). But he didn’t know what he was saying, didn’t know that he already could have died at her hands. The image of him knocked out cold under her armored boot was almost enough to get her to just go home - but then he shifted and enveloped the whole of her, and her answering wail chased it away. There was only this - her instinctively rocking her hips against his face, panting, and him drinking his fill, moans of his own pleasure falling from his mouth just as surely as his thoughts did.

She did laugh, as her inner walls clenched and the muscles in her thighs tightened. Not just because he _ whimpered _ as she squeezed his head (wasn’t that… _ something _ ), but because how _ else _ was she supposed to deal with how her body was heaving and how the intensity of being pulled over the edge made her feel like she could faint?

She spasmed around his tongue and would have crumbled onto him were it not for her iron grip on the sofa - but it grew harder to hang on when she felt him lap up all the wetness he could before he had to tip his head back to take a deep breath. “Holy shit… are you okay?"

“Better than. Are _ you _ okay?” She nodded, and he burrowed his face into her thigh, uncaring of the fact that he wasn’t covered in only sweat anymore. He tensed his hold on her just as she was about to maneuver herself off him - as if _ he _were the mind reader. “You don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to. I'm-- you can crush my head between your thighs any time.”

“Don’t tell me you really mean that.” Oh, but he did; his all-too-vocal hopes of a repeat performance told her as much. He looked up at her with a smirk, but the effect was offset by the amount of love in his eyes. _ Please don’t look at me like that. Please do. I don't know! _ “God, I feel like overcooked spaghetti.”

“That’s, um…” He grimaced. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it’s in a good way. I can't really explain it right, but you got me tired and all floppy.”

That got him to smile, but his mind betrayed his disappointment when she moved his hands so she could slide off him. He struggled to sit up, but he persevered and moved to sit next to her. How strange it was, to sit next to each other in tense silence as though the air wasn’t still charged with sex and longing; as though they were still at the table in the restaurant, afraid to cross a line. He was awash in euphoric disbelief, still _ wondering _ at all this having happened at all, and she had to admit she wondered much the same.

“So… what now?” 

Her words seemed to bring him back to himself, and he drew her close with an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple. “You deserve a good night’s rest. I'll lend you some pjs; you can sleep in bed with me, okay?”

This was a cause for panic, surely. She shouldn’t want to do this - sleeping next to someone wasn’t something she could just _ do, _ and she clearly agreed earlier because she didn’t want him to stop and pout. She needed to go home, dump herself in her bed that wasn’t nearly as nice or as big as the one waiting for her steps away, and live out another night as her puppet for work that couldn’t compare to the feeling of loving hands caressing a body that maybe, _ maybe _, deserved love. 

Tonight was a night made of unwise decisions. What was one more?

“I think I'll just sleep in my sweater.” She shrugged, jostling his arm a bit. “None of your clothes will fit me.”

“That’s--” he gulped, blushing. “That’s not a problem, you know. at all. You could wear them open, or… _ yeah _.”

She pointedly tried not to read his thoughts, nor did she spare a glance at his pants despite her burning curiosity. “Are you sure you don’t want real sex? Or, I dunno, a hand job or--”

“That _ was _ real sex! I swear, I'm good.” He squeezed her shoulder a little too tight. He stood, coaxing her up with him, and she rounded the couch to grab all her clothes before she followed him into the bedroom. “Just so you know… I would have picked you up and flown you in here, all gentleman-ly.”

She rolled her eyes before taking a quick glance around the room. Really, all she really cared about was the bed nice and big, just like she thought. “And why didn’t you?”

He turned to her, a small smile on his face. “Trying to respect your boundaries more.” His expression was so fervent, she dumped her clothes on the bed and hurried to get her clothes on just to give her something else to look at. “I know I can be a lot.”

She wanted to _ tease _ ever so badly; instead, she pulled her sweater over her head and smiled back. “Sometimes. not always.”

He leaned up to kiss her cheek, lips trailing down to her jaw and under her ear before he pulled away. “I think I will take a quick shower before bed, though - clean the couch too. Don’t feel bad if you’re already asleep by the time I'm done. You’ve had a long night.”

_ That _ was an understatement. As soon as he left the room, she flopped back onto the bed and rubbed a hand aggressively over her face. As much as she craved the familiarity of stewing in mistakes and self-hatred now that she was alone, she couldn’t deny that it was all the more tempting to just curl on her side and close her heavy lids. 

So she did, despite being in an unfamiliar place, despite knowing any restfulness would be plagued by nightmares, despite knowing that someone who _ knew _ her would be right next to her. even five minutes of uninterrupted oblivion would be welcome.

After all, tonight had made her greedy for things she couldn’t _ actually _ have. She intended to take it all - while she still could.


End file.
